


A Murder in Neon [Complete]

by Clunkbot, Writeyote



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: /trash/, /ztg/, Comedy, Complete, Cyber Punk, Deer, Detective, Fishercat, Gangster, Gritty, Mustelid, Noire - Freeform, One Shot, Short, TT, Thematic Thursday, scifi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 07:41:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10612329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clunkbot/pseuds/Clunkbot, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writeyote/pseuds/Writeyote
Summary: Written in varying states of intoxication, “A Murder in Neon” is the story of Joseph Toller, a gritty cybernetic detective. Join Toller as he investigates a murder in Neotopia’s festering “12th layer.”Drawing by A_Sighttp://imgur.com/a/QX6bg





	

Two floors beneath me there’s a place where you can get a whiskey neat for two bucks. One floor above me, there’s a single mother, a skunk, with three kids. I don’t like where I work, but I do love the work itself, not to mention whiskey. The name’s Joseph. Joseph Toller, private investigator and also a cyborg. But I doubt that’s news to you, who isn’t these day?

I flipped over the CYBER file, scrolling through various paragraphs of information and three dimensional pictures with my ROBOTIC eye, which I have because I’m from THE FUTURE, I know crazy, isn’t it? I paused, and looked out my only window. A glowing neon sign stared back at me. I briefly contemplated throwing myself out the window, down into cyber traffic, but remembered there was much needed justice to be served and I seem to be the only one on the job.

See, I have a particular brand of justice, or should I say, my friend has a particular brand of justice. He’s always with me. I keep him close, as good friends keep each other. Thick as the thieves we hunt down. I never travel alone when I’m on a case, it’s not safe in my line of work. You could say he’s close to my heart, about two inches above in fact. He likes to make his presence known frequently, and I’m no stranger to the local reporters who come hovering like vultures when he says a friendly howdy-do. I’m talking about a gun, if you weren’t following. A laser gun. Where do you think we are, the 21st century? 

I flipped through the file again. Some rabbit turning up dead wasn’t any concern of mine, but this guy was paying premium to find out what happened. I can’t blame him, she was a pretty one. Rounded cheeks, a cute button nose, floppy ears (rare for a rabbit), and eyes that shone like brilliant, purple amethyst. No, what concerned me was the amount this guy was willing to pay. “Nick” didn’t have much on him, and even less in his bank account, he was spending it all. That wasn’t a hyperbole either. 

The guy seemed awfully fucked up over this, so I took the case for half his offer. I still of have a conscience after all. I know true love when I see it and this was pretty close. How can I tell? I’m a sap for love stories. Even the shitty sad ones, like Rodentio and Juliet. 

I made sure my one true love was in my coat pocket before rising from my seat. The CYBER chair squeaked beneath me as I rose and stood at an imposing two feet. It was quite the leap from my chair to the rotten wooden floor, considering all the chairs and desks my size were goddamn expensive. 

I threw up my collar around me and did a quick check. Looks like I hadn’t forgotten about my other friend, a short silver flask adorned with hissing bars of neon around the frame. Gun, flask, I was ready to go. 

I tucked the file in my coat pocket, which was easy considering paper had long been outlawed and replaced with projecting, holographic disks. Which made the traditional notion of a file kind of confusing, because there isn’t like, a manilla file folder to use, but that’s not my concern, you’re the one imagining this shit.

I could always use a breath of fresh air. Fresh being a rather relative term, considering that I’m on layer twelve. Funny isn’t it? Some rich snob buys himself the keys to a city and doesn’t bother to give it fresh air. Hell even I would do that. I’ve got a heart. It may be full of cybernetic enhancements, but I’ve still got one, beating red and proud. 

I opened the door leading out of my office. The light hit me like a sledge hammer. It stifled everything, even those who lived here as long as I have, and that’s saying something. The people who live on this layer might as well be blind by now.

The neon colors of the lights rots away in glass tubing. It doesn’t play well off the decade old streets. Speaking of, the streets are cold and empty, like they usually are this time of night, save for the plastic wrappers flitting around.

Some say Neotopia is dying. I say it wasn’t alive to begin with. On any layer, even the uppermost, it’s always the same. You can’t go an inch before stumbling into one sob story or another. It can wear down on you, if you aren’t raw to the bone already. 

It can wear you down, and blind you. You take a step outside and you best be wearing glasses of some kind. Think about this: Towering pillars of neon bars, erected for no reason whatsoever other than a big “fuck you” to mammals who want to sleep with the windows open. That’s the reality of Neotopia. It’s dead, yeah, but someone forgot to turn out the lights. 

Everyone in this city is hurting somehow. Dead mother, druggie son, or just plain out of cash. People find ways to make it stop. Therapy, sims and of course good old fashioned booze. I’m a sucker for those last two. 

A while ago it was mostly sims. Hell even the ones that were just a field of grass, or a beam of sunshine. Those were the cheap ones. Still, I was doing at least two a day, until the money went dry. All I got for time was discontent, a few bad habits and this stupid t-shirt. 

Alcohol, as luck would have, takes the sting off just like the sims , and for a little less than half the price. I invested heavily in the cheap stuff. Though even the premium shit isn’t like sunshine. Nothing really is.

As I was making my short way to the crime scene, I got to thinking about how she must have felt before they gunned her down. Did she see it coming? Probably not. And what was a cute reporter-bunny doing out on the 12th layer? 

Something’s off. Usually I can feel this in a sensor magnetically attached to my brain, but this time I’ve got a good old fashioned “gut” feeling on this one. A dead rabbit, some fox spends what little he’s got getting back at whoever did it, sure that adds up. A couple of interspecies freaks. Maybe they’re the victims of some hate crime?

But no one, and I mean no one shoots a rabbit that many times. I’ve seen elephants cadavers with less holes in them, and hell, was that an evening. Stranger still, they used real lead, that stuff costs a small fortune. She must have done something big. 

Whatever it was, they made sure she wasn’t talking, which is hard to do for a gal like her. I’ve read the case file. Reporter for The Daily Howler. I read a few of her clips, mostly just things nobody would care about, like sports or politics. But towards the end of her relatively benign life, she started writing about Neotopian crime statistics. 

And not just statistics either, but the reasons behind those statistics. Mostly she implicated lackluster governance, but her last articles specifically concerned something about the “glitches.” At least, that’s what the media was calling them. “Glitches” in cybernetically enhanced mammals that made them go wild, and not just because mammals in this city are surrounded by violence, at least, that was my theory. 

But the glitches, man, they were like nothing else I could describe. Imagine being a single mother, a hippopotamus known for your gentle disposition, and suddenly, you’re curb stomping your kid in the fifth layer and trying to gore your husband. It just happens out of the blue. That kind of stuff just doesn’t happen in the fifth layer.

I can recall the headlines about a “dead reporter” with digital clarity, but there’s no need, as I’ve already got the story memorized. At least something in my rotten brain still works. Based off what I’ve read, I can tell you that this was done by a professional, or group of. Every shot was somewhere vital, and not a single strand of hair, let alone a print, was left behind. Thinking about it, I wasn’t paid nearly enough to deal with pros. I gotta start upping my fees. 

The “real cops” had the place cyber-taped off when I finished my short walk just down the street. I stepped through the tape, namely because it was cyber-tape and had no actual physical properties. I stared down quite broodingly at the chalk outline. The reality of Neotopia is this: This tape would stay up longer than most of the neon buildings. Nobody was coming to take this shit down, because nobody cared like they used to. It was the “glitches,” day in and day out. The poor PD has their hands tied. I was all alone on this one, just like I like it. Less interference from rookies and their Hipponese partners put on cases hilariously out of their league. 

The story goes like this: Light flickers during a routine maintenance. It lasts too long, and she gets taken out. Logically, that tells me that silencers and scent blockers were likely used. Since there were no reported noises, and the bots haven’t sniffed nothing, my hunch was confirmed. This meant someone knew where she was going and when she’d get there. This was heavily premeditated, which takes out the possibility of it being a random murder. 

If I knew something personal about her, I’d have some sort of clue. But reporters are a secretive bunch of people in this day and age. I don’t blame ‘em. In the era of hyper corruption and digital journalism, it was usually better to be anonymous. The only mistake this little rabbit made was being a little too cavalier about her interest in the glitches. Which lead me to believe someone wanted her to keep quiet.

So how does a reporter just turn up dead, without any evidence except the meticulous nature of her killer’s aim? All I had is the fact that she was a reporter for The Daily Howler, and covered glitches and crime. That still means something. Who would want to take out a reporter besides everyone and their mother? Especially one that already raked some mud? So what could be different this time around? Especially when she was reporting on old news?

I shoved my hands into my trench coat pockets just as the pipe spill began to fall from the digital sky. See, they like to keep us happy and complacent with electronic grids of the “night” sky playing overhead when most mammals should be getting some shut eye. I look up as a pillar of water falls down from the sky, too sustained and accurate to be actual rain. Some shoddy pipe was blowing its load all over me. 

Damn I needed a cyber cigarette. I’m much too self aware to vape, like most people do. Yeah I still liked the rush that nicotine gave me, but I wasn’t no pansy ass about it either. I’m a detective damnit, and that means I drink whiskey and smoke cigs when I can find em.

Nobody passed me by as I stood there, brooding. People were too afraid to come out of their homes some nights. Too much violence. This city, it makes me sick. But I’m just a white blood cell in the rotten intestines of Neotopia. What can I do but turn a few deserving mammals into corpses and hope to be gone by the time the PD shows up? 

The streetlights cloaked me in an artificial fire, a strange pinkish light that reminded me of vomit. I glared up into the lights just as the first spatters of pipe rain begin to grace my oversized fedora.

The streetlights...My mind started working and suddenly, bam, like gunshots, there were ideas popping off in my brain. “It’s not like all the lights go out at once if some IT slave fucks up,” I muttered to no one in particular.

They have precautions in place to prevent exactly this. Sure five years out of date, but hell, this doesn’t happen by chance. Which means I had a little something to work off. No matter how flimsy it is. My meat is flimsier than this and I beat it a few times before taking up this case.

I squeezed my good eye shut and let my CYBER eye go to work. Surely a brief look would reveal some useful clues. For a short moment, the world turned electronic and blue, as is the color of all things cyber. It pays to be a cripple, kids.

I took a look at the lights and make contact with the optical port. From there I just cracked open the code and scanned it for anything useful. The hacking broadcast didn’t even register. Streetlight are kinda like cops. They come a dime a dozen on a multibillion dollar budget.

Inside the light, there were swirling chunks of raw data. Numbers and technical jargon assaulted my head. It took me a second to get a grip, and another ten to figure out where I am inside the wiring. From there I can peek at the usual holes. It seemed like they decided not to take the easy routes.

It was clear I was dealing with someone above the usual cyber-gang-banger caliber. They could have gone through the most obvious nodes, like I did, but they didn’t. They shut off the entire bloc and gunned down this broad in cold blood, got away like it was nothing. How?

Something was off inside the light pole. I actually caught it on my way out, I’m surprised I even noticed it. There were a couple letters out of place. Someone missed a spot covering their tracks. It spelled out something, near something at least. WER_UP. Running past all prompts on this damn thing I found only one match:

POWER_UP_BOOT = TRUE.

The power hadn’t been cut via an electronic signal. 

This means one thing and one thing only: The bastards cut the power somehow, and it wasn’t digitally. This of course gave way to more questions than were being answered, an astronomical amount, actually. But the solution hit my like a baseball in a little league game: Hard, and in the face.

They had to go in there with bolt cutters. Nobody does that anymore. It’s too much effort for no payoff. Jesus, what was this rabbit even worth anyway? More importantly what did she find out that makes her worth that much? I nearly gave up on it, then and there. But in the end I decided to take a look a closer look.Worst case, 

I lost a couple minutes and got a little wet, so what? I took some musty air into my lungs as a refresher. All my exhalations smelled like new car smell. Thanks, future. I narrowed my eyes on a rusty ladder in some podunk little alley. I then turned my attention to the power panel on one of the lights. I put two and two together and made four.

The ladder rested neatly up against the light pole, and I gave it a climb, careful not to slip off. It was slightly too large for me, and starting to get slippery, but I managed. I am a Mustelid after all. If there’s one thing we’re good at, it’s swimming. Which has no bearing on climbing, but if you think of it kinda like you’re swimming upstrea- okay, I’ll stop.

My hunch turned out to be more when I opened the power hatch.The wiring was cut clean through, and welded back in one piece. They even brought along a welder. Son of a cyber-bitch. This was planned out to a startling degree. Beyond that which you see even in some nutty conspiracy theory. I knew I wasn’t going to like whatever answer I got, but my painfully empty wallet demanded I learn more. 

Now, onto the big question: Who do I know who can pull something like this off? About a dozen cyborg mammals and one particularly organic Deer name Slippy who has a thing against new tech. Kind of a luddite, kind of not. I figured I should start there, considering he doesn’t want me dead. Yet.

The door to my garage opened slowly. Which is hard to deal with because typically in the future everything is FAST. Except my garage door, which was achingly slow. Cloaked in the darkness of my single car garage was my my digi-bike. 

I paced over to the imposing vehicle and ran my paw across the polished metal. God it felt good to see this thing again. It's been awhile since I’ve had a chance to drive it, not since I got my license revoked for going 2fast. I swiveled my lanky body across its length and sink into the plush seat. My paws turned the handlebars and teased an electronic growl from the thing. I knew exactly where I was going. The question was: How fast did I wanna go?

I went fast, because the sims never gave you a rush quite like this. I bolt from the garage, dragging a comet’s tail of phosphorescent blue light behind me. Traffic was slow, but my ride was narrow, so I managed to thread between the chunky vehicles that stand between me and Slippy’s. I cranked back on the handlebars of my digi-bike and it bolted forward, tearing off into the air like a robotic bird of prey. For a brief moment, I was bereft of the ground. I heard digital honking erupting beneath me during my flight, but I paid those assholes no mind. I had to be there quick. Why? Slippy left early in the morning to sleep. It’d be suicide to talk to him outside his business hours.

I showed up to Slippy’s place a little bit after midnight, just as the fake weather was starting to turn as ugly as my ex-girlfriend, and let me tell you, I have made some mistakes in my life. Slippy’s place was a dive bar, not something one would immediately assume to be a crime boss’ lair. It sticks out like an island among abandoned brick buildings and stumbling old warehouses. You’d never guess that it was a bar, though it does have a large sign above the door that reads “The Slippery Toad,” which is a fairly bar-y name. I had a hunch, that I was in the right place, given the contextual clues.

Your first assumption is that it’s some kind of gay bar, I mean come on, with a name like that? The second and more accurate assumption, meant it was something related to Neotopia’s most infamous organic crime boss, Slippy. 

Things in there were old fashioned, including the drinks. I had a real hunch, that it was him who bolted the power off, because Slippy likes to do things by the books. Old books that is. Pistols and knives, bolt cutters and claws. If he could have one of his cronies bite your neck in two, he’d do it. 

He knew me, not as a friend per say, but it’s apt to say that we went way back, and I was counting on that thin thread of acquaintanceship to keep my ass intact. I pushed the doors in, which, to my surprise, were made of wood, and not some fabrication of metal or physical light. 

The noise was first to my sensitive ears. Thick gales of dumb laughter, the soft moan of a vinyl playing jukebox. I looked around, noting that nothing was out of place. That’s the way he kept it; All the cops see is another shitty hole in the wall. It’s at the end of the place where the real shit happens.

That’s where Slippy likes to sit, surrounded thick by a pack of mammals that could turn my spine into an accordion. Bears, elephants, maybe even a lion or two to cover all of his bases. Slippy, on his own, liked to keep his antlers sharp, so he could gore anyone who doesn’t pay his “protection fees.” 

“Just like nature intended,” he always said. I never remind him that nature intended to eat his ass for dinner. That would be a poor choice of words for my continued health.

I made my way through the crowds, which was a little harder than it should have been, when you’re a lot smaller than the rest of the mammals around you. But I managed to slip through the legs of larger mammals with some grace.

I finally made my way to his little corner, where despite all odds he seemed to be drinking alone. Well not alone, but his muscle wasn’t paid to talk. Speaking of muscle, the biggest grizzly I’ve ever seen blocked me from getting any further. He looked down at me waiting for me to speak.

“Slippy. I’m here for him.” I glared up over the shoulder of his brute. The deer behind this wall of fur and flesh perked up at the sound of his name. He looked over his muscle’s shoulder and down at me.

“Wait a minute…” his gaze narrowed. “What dead ass mammal comes dressed to the Slippery Toad like some pulpy fuck, other than Toller?”

I didn’t permit a smile. 

The guards made a path from me to him, like the parting of an ocean of bodies, leaving him a clear line of sight. If I wanted, I could shoot him dead. But I didn’t. He stood up, slowly, yet seemingly unafraid of an armed mammal. This was his turf after all. 

His face lit up when he got a clear look at me. I seemed to be a joke to him, better than an insult. 

“Get over here you electronic bastard, have a drink with me.”

I quickly took up a seat next to him. I wasn’t about to say no to a free drink. Still, I kept my gun ready. The dude had a temper like nothing you’ve seen. He could go from chatting to outright murder, much too often for me to feel any amount of comfort around him, and I spend my days around murderers.

“What do you know about a dead reporter last night, Slippy?” I swirled my whiskey neat in my glass, and downed it with little apprehension. I wasn’t about to mince words with a guy named Slippy. He had ways of slipping around you.

“I heard about it on the news. That poor reporter,” he responded all too casually.

Someone stifled a laugh.

“Yeah, she died under strange circumstances, wouldn’t you say? It was lights out, and then BANG. Someone shot her with some good old fashioned gunpowder and metal. Not a pretty death, I know that for sure. Must have cost a fortune to get ahold of hardware like that.”

“You’re asking a lot of questions for someone who just got here,” he replied, in a humorous tone, though I doubted its sincerity. 

“Isn’t that my job?”

“So it is.” He threw back his drink and promptly ordered another, as did I. We briefly locked eyes, which was, frankly, a surreal experience. Staring down a purely organic mammal in this day and age was kind of like seeing a minor miracle. He quickly broke into a friendly smile, showing no hint of electronic modifications in his mouth, which again, was not something you see everyday. But I knew Slippy. He likes to do things the old fashioned way. 

“Ever tried being conversational, Toller?”

I swirled my second whiskey around in the glass, watching as the minuscule waves of the amber fluid crested and fell. “I tried, but I only ended up with scars,” I said as I pointed towards my eye. 

He raised an appreciative eyebrow. “The wonders of modern technology huh?”

“You’re damn right. Was wondering when you were going to get yours?” I set my glass down. “I can see it now, a nice metal paw built for crossing chumps who get in your way,” I said, trying to lighten the mood a little bit.

He follows suit in setting down his drink.

“C’mon Toller, you know how I feel about metal on my body.” He shivered, and for once, I didn’t doubt his sincerity. “It just freaks me out. I don’t know how you deal with having a fucking USB port in your head.”

“Yeah I guess I can’t blame you, what with all the ‘glitching’ mammals in the news these days. Speaking of, what do you think of these glitches?”

“Makes me glad there ain’t any cervos in my guts, that’s for sure. You ask me, those freaks are getting exactly what they deserve for playing God.” He always was the preachy type, but something didn’t add up. If this reporter was raking mud on this whole deal, why’d he stick his neck in? Wouldn’t she be good for his entire situation?

 

“Let’s talk ‘round back. I’ll tell you a little more about your reporter friend.” He seemed a little too happy to discuss his handiwork. Something wasn’t right, I could feel it in my gut. “We’ll take these to go, sal.”

My hands went to out my coat pocket, Slippy always liked em where he could see them. I wasn’t taking any chances over something small as that. Need I remind you, the guy’s name is Slippy, and I’m several feet shorter than him. His antlers could split me in two. 

His “entourage” rose to follow us. I suddenly felt a lot smaller than I really was, and a lot more outnumbered.

“How about we talk alone?” I suggested.

He nodded to his muscle, returning them to their seats. They cast me a few threatening looks. Slippy was safe though. If I even made a twitch his goons would be on me. Not to mention even unenhanced he could probably take me in a fight. Sure, I had one hell of a bite, motorized jaw muscles, but that was nothing compared to Slippy’s raw anger. Even mammal-kinds best minds couldn’t electronically replicate something as potent as Slippy’s anger, and I’m glad they still can’t.

He pushed open the single back door, out into the cold Neotopian night. I followed like an unwilling tug boat. The weather was cool and even. 

“You know, Toller, I thought we had a deal,” he began all joy leaving his tone and face. His posture went stiff.

My fingers tightened around my piece and I narrowed my gaze at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You scratch my back, I scratch yours. You don’t come sniffing around my place, and I don’t give you no trouble.” He was getting angry fast. I knew the guy, and he had a temper that could get hotter than most ovens. If you ever read the headlines about some poor son of a bitch getting gored, you know they said the wrong thing to Slippy, or cracked a joke at his expense. 

“This isn’t anything normal. This was a fucking execution, more thorough than most. What the hell did she know?” At this point dancing around the subject wouldn’t do any good. Nor would trying to appease him. That just pissed him off worse.

“You’re not...accusing me, right old buddy?” 

My heart would have stopped if it hadn’t been partly mechanical.

He narrowed his eyes before cracking a grin. It wasn’t friendly or even smug. No, this could only be described as...predatory. Being a predator myself, I was familiar with his visage. It wasn’t like what a wolf would flash to intimidate some dumb lamb, the real terror came from his eyes. That was where it was different, it was like I was a piece of meat to this fucker. I instinctively went to my pocket, as my heart started working double time. A second later his eyes went from me to my pocket, and then to the gun shaped bulge inside. 

“I know that bulge. I had nothing to do with this, okay?” If things were bad before, now they were fucking lethal. 

“Sure, I believe you,” I said through clenched teeth. If I backed down now I probably would have been gored then and there. Best to roll the dice. “But my laser pistol don’t.”

“Your ‘laser pistol’ ain’t as close as I am. By the time you draw, you’re already dead. You have no right to do this on my turf. You asked me, I answered, and you try starting shit? I thought we were friends.” His voice picked up in volume with each bitter word, spit like poison from his mouth. I was silent as a graveyard.

He began to slowly walk forward, creeping step by creeping step. “This is how you repay my hospitality? What the fuck do free drinks mean anymore?”

I was about to go all in, like the dumbasses who lose e-poker. Either I’d get what I wanted or I would be dead. No use crying over spilt milk or should haves.

“I know you had a part in this. I just want the dumb fucker who did the muscle work. You aren’t getting touched. That’s all.” I thought I’d try and cut a bargain with him. I don’t like standoffs.

He started to laugh. “That’s unfortunate. This is bigger than whatever you were paid, even if it was a million dollars. You willing to die for it?” His laughter only grew louder. The door creaked open, and a mean looking tiger that was missing a few tufts of his mane poked his head out into the cool night air. The tension pooped like a cheap balloon. 

“You okay boss?” He asked. 

Geeze, these guys would suck Slippy’s dick if he said so. They’d be better mothers than bodyguards.

Slippy paused, his hooves jammed into his coat pockets. “Yeah, Jared. I’m fine. Go back inside while Toller and I talk.”

“Right.” He paused to glare at me before slipping back inside.

He turned back to me, no longer imposing. Something had changed in his eyes as I looked up at him. Perhaps he was remembering, or was more aware of my gun. Either way when he started talking his tone was stable and diplomatic.

 

“Listen, we’re friends. Sure, I think we both know I did it, but for old times sake just leave it be. Nothing good will come from this. I got a guy ready to take the fall for me. I know you need your mammal to turn in to the cops, and I’m willing to be reasonable.” He relaxed slowly. What was with this sudden mood shift? That was the thing about Slippy’s words. They were so...slippery.

He was right though, we had history. If he was letting this go, I was lucky. And I sure as hell didn’t want to get hurt. So I took his offer. 

“I’ve been working on my temper a little bit. Wanna see a lot less in the headlines about saps getting stabbed on my behalf. A little blood here and there ain’t no big deal, but a body just makes my life harder, you follow?” He asked me.

I took my hand off my piece. “Right, guess drinks are on me then?” 

Slippy liked me. I could see where this was going. I get out of this with my skin still attached to my bone, and maybe I’ll get my mammal. Everyone gets a happy ending. My gaze flitted up to his antlers, which were freshly sharpened. Then I locked eyes with him, and saw that half cocked grin of his, commanding me, lording over me. 

“Yeah, guess so. But seriously it ain’t a good idea to get your paws in this virus business.” 

“What virus-” 

His right hoof swung hard, catching me across the jaw. Those things were sharp, they cut my skin as much as they broke bone. A thick trail of blood caught up to me as I hit the ground. I shouldn’t have had been so trusting, this was what the fucker did. He lures you in and then strikes. Of course, I fell for the bait, hook, line and sinker. 

He pulled an old fashioned USB from his pocket. Those things weren't used much, cept for neural uploads. Something about incompatible biology and hardware, or something as equally un-understandable. Why the hell would he have something like this? 

“You were my friend, Toller. I thought you understood boundaries. I guess I didn’t teach you a lesson when you had the chance. You can’t leave. I hope you understand.”

A kick cut off any attempts I had to return to my feet. Well, it was more like a punt given my size. Before I could recover, he pressed a hoof onto my chest, and squeezed out the last little trickles of air still in my lungs

“Shame, I actually did like you. At least you’re going get a second chance.. of sorts.” He forced my paws against the cold, cold concrete. I struggled like a fish out of water as another kick smashed into my chest. Seconds later, with his hoof not pinning my arms, he slammed the USB drive into the port on the side of my head.

A line of text appeared in my vision. Things started fading fast. I tried thrashing desperately against his hooves to no avail. My arms were like lead at this point. By the time I registered the words in my vision I couldn’t read them. “N1GHTH0WL3R.exe has finished installing” was as good as gibberish.

I stood up, but not of my own will. The little fragments of myself I had left were finishing the process leaving me. It was like something else was wearing my skin. Something feral, wild, but not without the graces of modern technology. I opened my mouth. Nobody, not even the rain would recognize my screams.

“Out with the new, in with the old,” were the last words I heard. By some miracle I understood them before it all went dark.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a complete short story written by Writeyote and Clunkbot for Thematic Thursday. This week's theme: Scifi
> 
> Hail /ztg/


End file.
